


Choices

by FightingForms



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Love/Hate, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightingForms/pseuds/FightingForms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben's mouth gets him into the type of trouble he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fantabulous Turn Kink Meme and slightly edited. Original prompt: http://turn-kink.livejournal.com/799.html?thread=81695#t81695

Ben closed his eyes and let himself relax near the fire, heat working to unkink muscles wound up by a long day’s ride. He ached, but it wasn’t the winter’s ache of cold and loss and disappointment. This was—finally—an exhausted ache born of attempting to carry out a plan that had to work, of riding into battles he’d win or die fighting. There was something liberating about having reached the decision to do or die trying. No more doubts, no more second-guessing. Only keeping his country and his friends alive mattered now; everything else was a secondary concern.

He didn’t even open his eyes when he felt someone hovering above him smelling of soap and wine. 

“I’d have thought you’d keep your eyes wide open here among Lee’s men, Tallmadge,” a familiar voice said, less mocking than Ben would have expected, but still with enough of an edge to it to make things interesting.

Ben opened his eyes, catching Bradford’s unguarded examination of him. It looked as though he liked what he’d seen. It was the first time in a long time someone had looked at him like that, and Ben felt something within him start to thaw even as he remained on his guard.

“Did I not admit that I was wrong about Lee and his men?” Ben asked.

“Yes, but did you mean it?” Bradford said, sitting down much closer to Ben than was usual.

“Just as much as General Lee meant his apology to General Washington,” Ben replied, attempting a poker face.

Bradford’s eyes hardened and Ben’s muscles tensed, ready for another fireside confrontation.

It didn’t come, at least not in the way Ben had anticipated. Bradford, catching Ben’s readiness to fight, put a quelling hand on his shoulder and…did not remove it. It stayed, and its presence was oddly welcome despite Bradford’s provocative statement. “Pretty words, Tallmadge. But has anyone ever told you that words could get you into trouble?”

“Yes….sir,” Ben said, noting the way Bradford’s hand tightened on him, “Sometimes people even try to ‘shut my pretty mouth’ to keep me from saying them.”

Bradford inhaled sharply and removed his hand from Ben’s shoulder while Ben held his breath. What had he been thinking? Was he trying to antagonize Bradford into revealing that they weren’t really fighting in the same army after all? All he knew was that being around the man had fully reawakened his senses. 

“And how do they try to shut that mouth of yours?” Bradford asked, leaning in closer to Ben and sounding somewhere between threatening and amused. 

“With their fists, mostly,” Ben replied, pretty mouth in question so close to Bradford’s he could practically taste the wine on his breath, then he leaned back, squaring his shoulders, ready. 

Bradford’s lips quirked. “’Mostly’ with their fists?” He leaned in, once again closing the distance between them. “We’ll have to see about using other means to keep that pretty mouth from saying things that could get it into trouble. Come with me.”

Ben followed Bradford to his tent feeling as though he was attached to the man with a string. The bulge in Bradford’s breeches gave Ben a fairly clear understanding of what he could expect, but his mind was as alive with possibilities as his body. Getting close to Bradford meant getting closer to correspondence and orders in addition to what promised, from the bulge, to be a magnificent cock.

Once inside the tent, Ben glanced around for correspondence and evidence of a wide bed while Bradford finished lighting candles. 

When Bradford came toward him, though, he forgot about the bed entirely, feeling a strong compulsion to kneel that he was barely able to keep in check.

Bradford smiled knowingly and ran a hand down Ben’s cheek. “We have several options for shutting your mouth,” he said, turning the hand into a fist and knocking it gently against Ben’s lower lip, “There’s the traditional option, which I believe I still owe you.”

Ben shuddered as Bradford took him by the shoulders and pushed him to his knees in front of his crotch. “Then there’s this option, and I have to say that the thought of those lips around my cock has been with me since I first laid eyes on you.”

Before Ben could select the second option, having smelled Bradford’s arousal at close range and now needing to have his mouth on it more than ever before, Bradford pulled him up and over to the camp bed, inclining his head to indicate that Ben should bend over.

Ben obeyed the wordless command, feeling the heat of Bradford’s eyes on his bottom before hands settled on his hips and his backside was brought flush with Bradford’s crotch. “And this is the final option,” Bradford said as he gave Ben’s hips a firm squeeze. Ben thought he could feel the ridges of Bradford’s cock even through their breeches, and moaned when Bradford started to thrust against him, hot and rough and forcing these whimpers he didn’t even know he could make deep out of his throat.

“Ah ah ah,” Bradford scolded. “Bite the blanket if you’re going to be vocal. The goal is not to hear any noise out of you.”

Just when Ben thought he would explode, Bradford pulled back and told Ben to stand. 

Ben rose and gestured toward Bradford’s wine. “May I?” he asked. “The blanket tasted slightly of horse.”

Bradford grinned and inclined his head. “Of course. I do hope that won’t influence your choice.”

Ben took a long gulp of the wine, conscious of the way Bradford’s gaze lingered on the muscles of his throat.

“There’s an option you’ve neglected, sir,” Ben informed him. 

Bradford gave him an inquiring look and Ben pulled him into a wine-soaked kiss. Bradford resisted at first, perhaps because he hadn’t been the one to take the initiative, but it didn’t take long before he was convulsively tightening one of his hands on Ben’s bottom while the other pulled his head in, deepening the kiss. 

“Tallmadge,” Bradford said once he’d regained his breath. “Always finding ways outside of the rules you’ve been given.”

“Well, this option has the added benefit of shutting you up as well. Sir.,” Ben grinned.

Bradford raised a brow. “We do still have a ‘fight’ option on the table, Tallmadge, and I don’t _object_ to striking you,” he said, even as his hand stroked gently over Ben’s backside.

“Good,” Ben said, pushing back into his touch. “Because I want all four options.”

Ben relished Bradford’s momentary look of complete shock, then shivered at the gleam in his eyes. 

“Greedy boy,” Bradford whispered, taking hold of him roughly. 

“Yes,” Ben said as they wrestled, biting and tearing at one another’s clothes, needing more friction, more pain, more pleasure, more release from orders and war and suspicion—more release, period. “Yes.”


End file.
